Chapter Fifty-Five
Standing at the side of his saddled horse at the hotel hitching rail, Luke noticed Francis slowly walking Redmond up the road in his direction. Actually, Luke had been waiting for him. He was worried about Francis. Hearts were breaking at this moment, he was sure.
His young friend reined up three horses over and looked around. “Where’s everyone else?”
“Finishing up their noon meal in the eatery.”
Francis chuckled. “Gettin’ fortified for the ride home.”
“That’s right.” Francis wasn’t giving anything away. He’d have to dig if he wanted answers. “Where you been?”
Hunkered in his saddle, Francis leaned onto his saddle horn, looking like he’d been on the trail for a month. He hadn’t yet cleaned up, and now he’d have to ride out dirty. Luke was sure that was the least of his problems at the moment.
Luke grasped his Stetson hooked on his own saddle horn, and pushed the hat on, shading out the glaring sun he hadn’t seen for quite some time. “Want to talk?”
Pain sliced across Francis’s face. He glanced away and blinked several times. “She said no.”
Whoa. That was fast. Even in comparison to his and Faith’s short courtship. He hadn’t realized Francis was quite there. But still, when he knew what he felt about Faith, nothing would have changed his mind. “You asked her to marry you?”
Francis nodded.
“And she turned you down?”
Again, the nod as he gazed off into the distance.
“You’re eighteen, Francis. Young to settle down. I was twenty-six when I met Faith. Had done a lot of living.” And suffering. How much better has my life been since we married? Do I wish I’d met her sooner? Hell, yes!
“I don’t think age has much to do with anything,” Francis answered. “And she didn’t actually say no. Just that she couldn’t leave the things she loved here in Priest’s Crossing. Her mother, her teaching, and mostly, the apple orchard she’s been tending for nine years. Thing is, I can sort of understand what she means.”
That was good news. Not all was lost! “You know, we’ve always considered you family, Francis, and that when you do marry, you’ll have some acreage of your own, part of the ranch, to build a home on, just like the rest of us.” He nodded. His parents, Flood and Claire, had taken Francis in as an orphan. “You’re family. You’ll have the McCutcheon name, as well, if that’s what you want.”
Wonder crossed Francis’s face first and then a storm of emotion. He looked away and rubbed an unsteady hand across his mouth. “I… I couldn’t.”
Suddenly Luke grinned like a fool. I like the sound of another little brother. “You could… and you should. You have as much McCutcheon blood in your veins as I do. You know Flood’s not my real pa. I was sired by a Cheyenne brave. Same goes for Colton and Dawn, since I’m their step-pa. You’re one of us, and you have been for a long time. Feelings are what makes a family, not blood. Think on it, Francis, before you turn it down.”
Luke chuckled to lighten the mood. Francis was still stewing over losing the women he loved. “You mentioned a while back Miss Adair has been growing some saplings, to increase her orchard. How would she feel about diggin’ ’em up and bringin’ ’em to Y Knot?”
Francis’s expression relaxed. His chest lifted as if he’d been holding his breath since Luke had spoken of taking the family name. Being a McCutcheon meant a lot, as Luke knew it would. “I don’t know much about growing fruit, Francis, but somewhere I remember hearing that maybe they’d produce in three to four years. She’d know better than me.”
Francis straightened in his saddle.
His lost little puppy look vanished, and he drilled Luke with an intense gaze. Luke shrugged. “It’s worth a shot. Might not take much to get her thinkin’ along those lines. The sooner they’re planted, the sooner they’ll grow—in Y Knot. Her mother can come along if she wants, and I do believe the school might have an opening soon. Doesn’t sound like a lost cause to me.” He glanced at the eatery. “With all the hands, diggin’ those saplings won’t be a problem at all, and we might convince the new Sheriff Clark to lend us Benson’s mules and wagon. Seems the least he can do for keeping me locked up so long on trumped-up charges.”
Francis lifted his hat and ran his dirt-smudged arm along his forehead as a wide smile appeared on his face. The temperature was climbing.
Smokey ambled out of the eatery, rubbing his belly. He smiled and started their way.
“Or, if she wants to wait on moving the saplings till a better time of the year, we can spare a day or two and help her get what’s there now harvested. While I’m feeling generous, having just cheated death, tell her we’ll all stay back. Get her orchard cleared.”
Francis’s mouth opened and closed.
Luke shrugged. “Well, what’re you waitin’ for?” He pulled out his pocket watch and flipped open the lid. “You’re on the clock. Go win your woman’s hand. You’re a McCutcheon. We don’t take no for an answer.”